


A Running Gag

by locales



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gags, Heavy BDSM, Incest, M/M, Objectification, Uncle/Nephew Incest, pre-negotiated scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24218119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locales/pseuds/locales
Summary: Peter has a cabinet filled with gags by the door his visitors can use if they wish.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Peter Hale, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 84





	1. Peter/Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> Ch 1: Peter/Stiles  
> Ch 2: Peter/Derek  
> Ch 3: Peter/Derek (continued from Chapter 2)
> 
> A/N, 2016: So I was talking to M and this happened! I'd read an ask on a tumblr that asked if they had gags by the door that their visitors had to choose and wear. Then I was like "Imagine going to Peter's loft and he has those on display and Derek or Stiles could wear them and just lounge around while getting into a quieter headspace."
> 
> There is no sex in this fic but gags and BDSM are mature content.
> 
>  _Chapter 1 Summary:_ Stiles has had the worst time with his job search and could use a break. This begins with Stiles starting a pre-negotiated BDSM scene. Then it goes into a flashback where Peter and Stiles discuss and try a scene with gags. Then it returns to the present.
> 
> A/N, 2020: I was going through my deleted fics and wanted to reupload them! I wrote this on February 10, 2016, as [places](https://archiveofourown.org/users/places).

“I don't know what I'm doing wrong, Scott. This is the third interview I've had this month and they didn't seem to like anything I presented. I've sent out 200 resumes for research scientist positions and no bites from the places I actually want to work at!”  
  
“They don't know what they're missing, Stiles. You're the best researcher we've had, bro.”  
  
“I'm the _only_ researcher you've had, dude. I gotta go. I need Peter to do something with me. Say 'Hi!' to Kira and Allison for me.”  
  
Stiles shoved his phone roughly into his pocket, running his hands through hair still wet from a shower.  
  
His frantic fingers stilled long enough to flick through the keys, singling out one on a metallic red key-ring. He dumped his his backpack at the entrance and shrugged off his hoodie, kicking his shoes off.  
  
He went to the ornate cabinet by the entrance and his eyes flitted rapidly between the items on display. His fingers danced briefly on the ball-gags and bit-gags before settling on the panel one. He took it down and ran his fingers over the ridges and stitches, turning it around in his hands. It was a thing of beauty, full leather, with a soft and squishy cylindrical plug and a strong velcro strap rather than the usual metal buckle at the back.  
  
Stiles shoved the plug into his mouth and wrapped the gag around his head, getting a snug fit on the velcro. He gave the leather cylinder a few chews to get used to it being in his mouth again, relishing in how solid it felt pushing down on his tongue. He felt the panel lie flush with his face and ran his hand over his face a few times. He felt the strap holding the panel and the plug in place, appreciating the leather, buttery soft against his face. He inhaled and exhaled a few times through his nose, making sure he could breathe properly.  
  
He picked up a red ball from one of the cabinet shelves and made his way into the living room. Peter made anyone who wore the gags to always have a way to communicate when they were otherwise incapable of speech. He settled down on the couch and let his head fall back, closing his eyes.  
  
Perfect.  
  
+  
  
Peter had first suggested this method of release after a particularly difficult time for Stiles, when he was running ragged with exams and research papers, talking a mile a minute to him because he had so many concurrent threads running in his head. He. Just. Could. Not. Stop. Talking.  
  
“Stiles, do you want me to gag you?”  
  
After Stiles' raucous laughter subsided, he sobered, skin flushing. This was new.  
  
Peter sensed the subtle change and stalked towards Stiles, tilting Stiles' chin up, the boy refusing to make eye contact.  
  
“Methinks the lad wants me to do it,” Peter released his chin after Stiles' heart rate slowed down to a decent tempo.  
  
“Think about it, Stiles. I have a few gags you can try.”  
  
Stiles was game for anything at that point, even BDSM with Peter.  
  
Stiles had turned up at Peter's door reeking of nerves, all nervous actions, a desperate look in his eyes a few days later. Peter led him to his study and asked him to take a seat at the comfy leather sofa. He pulled up a small stool and sat in front of him.  
  
“This is the beginning of a beautiful porno. _Zombie Wolf and Lil’ Red Riding Hood._ ” Stiles tugged at his hoodie string, then fingers tapping an incessant rhythm on the armrest. Peter snorted.  
  
“Take this,” Peter handed Stiles a bright red rubber ball.  
  
Stiles balked at the size, immediately dropping it.  
  
Peter picked it up and placed it in Stiles' left palm. “This is a signal. Drop it any time you want to end the scene. It's entirely up to you. It's a safe word.”  
  
Peter then produced a small foam ball attached to two soft leather straps via sturdy o-rings.  
  
“This ball will go into your mouth. When I buckle the strap, squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no. Drop the ball and we stop entirely. You can also nod and shake your head for yes or no. This gag is small enough so I can understand what you're saying, actually.”  
  
“Open your mouth, Stiles.”  
  
Stiles' heart rate ratcheted up.  
  
Peter placed the gag gently in Stiles' hesitantly opened mouth, letting him give it a few experimental licks. Stiles bit into the ball a few times and it wasn't like the hard ball gags he'd heard people complain about all over Amazon. The leather smelled amazing too.  
  
Stiles popped the ball out and breathed out, “This could actually work.”  
  
“I'm going to buckle the strap after this. If you're alright with that, say 'Yes'.”  
  
“Yes, Sir!”

Peter's eyes flashed blue. Stiles looked away, mouth suddenly going dry.  
  
Peter placed the ball in his mouth again and buckled it around his head. He took his right hand and peered into Stiles's widened eyes, his other hand gently cradling Stiles' jaw, thumb stroking over his lips and the ball in his mouth.  
  
“Are you alright, sweetheart?”  
  
After a sharp intake of breath, Stiles nodded, a bit disoriented and a beautiful red blush on his cheeks. Even though he was as grounded as he could be, all snug in the leather sofa, he felt like he was having trouble telling up from down. He squeezed Peter's hand once and his hands went up to stroke the ball and the straps holding them in his mouth. He grabbed Peter's hand again, the touch grounding him in a way he never expected.  
  
Peter was definitely loving this Stiles, so goddamn _pliant_ and obedient, not running his lovely mouth a mile-a-minute. He was ever vigilant, looking for any discrepancies in his heart rate. What he heard was a definite slow down and a scent of warm contentment wafting from him.  
  
He stayed by Stiles for a long time like that, taking and holding the boy's hand firmly.  
  
+  
  
Peter came out of the kitchen. He always gave him space to settle when he saw that he'd picked out a gag from the cabinet. He raised a brow at the war path of discarded belongings near the door and picked up after him. He made his way to the couch and rested his hand on top of Stiles' head, leaning down to kiss his forehead.  
  
“Darling, is it alright if we watch Cosmos?” Peter sat down next to Stiles on the couch, not touching him further.  
  
Stiles gave him a slight nod.  
  
Stiles moved to snuggle into Peter, pulling one of his arms around him, letting Sagan's gentle voice take them on a space odyssey, something about Jupiter and gas giants. Stiles usually slipped deeper into his head space like this, hand occasionally going up to touch the gag, content with Peter's solid presence grounding him, all awkwardness lost over the years.  
  
+  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked when he was tugging the heavy weighted blanket over them.  
  
Stiles shrugged, sleepy rather than in his quiet head space now, eyelids definitely drooping. “I think I just needed to let off some steam and chill.”  
  
“I see. Let's turn in for tonight.” Peter turned off the light, laying a soft kiss on Stiles' forehead again, re-positioning Stiles as the little spoon.  
  
The resumes could use a few follow-up emails tomorrow, Stiles thought as he drifted off into his first peaceful night in weeks. 


	2. Peter/Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets out of a tough Pack negotiation and goes to Peter for some release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of a scene. Self-use of a gag. A few references to burn and fire trauma. Peter and Derek in a scene - please stay clear if BDSM and/or incest is a no-go for you. Thank you.

  


The broken stutter of the old air-conditioner overhead matched Derek's current mood.  
  
He frowned at his phone, forgetting why he took it out in the first place.

The past month had been relentless. Nothing but an onslaught of meetings, lengthy and incorrectly replied to email chains, tight-lipped Pack elders and whispered words in musty corridors. Not to mention the closed room recesses the McNamara Pack seemed to favor so much. The Pack had used an obscure family connection to try and claim the Hale land in Beacon Hills.

Stiles had done them all a remarkable kindness by scouring every old manuscript in the Hale library, hunched over, long fingers sifting through yellowed pages delicately. Cora had pushed cup after cup of coffee into the general vicinity of his hand.  
  
He unearthed the one obscure verbal agreement hidden in an old family tree scroll that invalidated the McNamaras' claim. Only a Hale lawyer could attend a pack dispute though.  
  
_Didn't want Derek's expensive education and shiny new lawyering license go to waste now, did we?_  
  
In retrospect, this was the best outcome he could have gotten. Even Talia agreed. He was still a failure though.Derek shut the phone cover with force and shoved it deep into the recesses of his blazer.

And took it out again, tapping into Messages before he lost his nerve.

It wasn't the best prospect but there weren't very many things that got him out of this kind of abject misery. The kind where it felt like his life was circling the drain all over again, when the voices in his head were rending him raw, cataloging the breathtaking depth and breadth of his past and present sins.  
  
+  
  
**Derek:** I've settled the McNamara matter and emailed the agreement to you.  
  
_**Peter:** Good. They've been persnickety._  
  
**Derek:** (...)  
  
**Derek:** Can I come over tonight?  
  
_**Peter:** Whatever for, Nephew Dearest?_  
  
**Derek:** I need...  
  
**Derek:** (...)  
  
**Derek:** You KNOW why.  
  
_**Peter:** I need to hear you say it, Sweetheart._  
  
**Derek:** Can I please come over and have you use me, Sir?  
  
_**Peter:** Isn't that easier, pet?_  
  
**Derek:** Thank you, Sir.  
  
_**Peter:** I expect you to be clean, gagged and kneeling by my door at 8.00 pm sharp._  
  
**Derek:** Understood, Sir.  
  
_**Peter:** ;)_  
  
Derek frowned at the emoticon and started to dismantle his own tower of empty coffee cups. The caffeine did nothing but the bitterness was irritating enough to keep him alert.  
  
Thinking about what he was doing tonight, though, Derek suppressed a shiver. He made his way to his car and gunned it out of the crummy office building he'd been shut in for the past four weeks.  
  
+  
  
Derek reached Peter's door at precisely seven and headed straight for the guest bedroom. Peter always checked if he'd been neat in putting his things away. Derek shuddered, recalling the time couldn't walk for a day even with his super-healing. He'd worked his cane on his soles, rendering him bedridden. Of course Peter had used the opportunity to keep him stuffed and restrained on his bed. But it had been unpleasant nevertheless. He fought his current temptation to leave it in disarray.

Not tonight.  
  
With precise motions, he showered and cleaned himself inside and out. He managed to find the unscented lube after rooting around in Peter's medical cabinet for a bit. His stomach twisted when he saw the burn creams and aloe. Peter healed, of course. But Derek had scented the creams on his uncle's person a few days in the past, particularly around the anniversary of the fire or on days when there were nothing but news reports of forest fires in California.  
  
Wincing at how tight he was, he fingered himself open and pushed the large plug with the flared base that Peter had left for him, cleaning off the excess lube on his ass.  
  
After drying off with jerky motions, he padded down to the living room and reached the gag display, going for a simple bit-gag. It was merely a piece of curved metal, something that rested comfortably in his mouth, held around the head with an elastic band and a small hook. Something simple enough to spit out. He knelt on the cushion Peter had left for him, trying valiantly to slow down the thoughts that were still swirling in his mind.

He'd have hell to pay if he weren't alert enough for Sir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues in Chapter 3


	3. Peter/Derek (cont. from Chapter 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Peter/Derek scene from Chapter 2 continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Use of gags, posture collar, mitts, blindfolds and objectification. Mentions of caning.

  


The sharp tang of misery hit him the second he unlocked his door.

_Derek._  
  
Perfect form, back ramrod-straight, kneeling, a breathtaking beauty and yet taking as little space as possible. Peter threaded his hand in Derek's hair and yanked, hearing Derek's heart rate stutter.  
  
Derek jerked up but held his eyes downcast. Peter let his fingers drift down his face, running his thumb across the thin but sturdy metal bit, exceedingly gentle.  
  
“Look at me, Sweetheart.”  
  
Derek shuddered at the endearment and melted a little, letting his shoulders droop minutely. He cautiously peered up into Peter's face. Peter could see the sweat beaded on his forehead, his throat bobbing up and down in a nervous, futile swallow. The boy always assumed he was wrong, even when he'd just won the most entangled legal bind the Hales had faced in recent times.  
  
The boy needed a steady and firm hand. Granted, he was harder on him than the others but only when he needed it or skimmed on rules they'd agreed on. Peter was terribly disappointed when things weren't put in order. He enjoyed the spike of fear of the cane still brought, recalling the moans of pleasure Derek tried to muffle as he'd edged him the day after he'd shredded Derek's feet. He'd discarded his clothes in a disarray, like a petulant child and naughty boys like that needed reminders. Like a cacophonous Schnittke piece, entrancing and desperate in turn, Derek was a most brilliant toy for Peter.  
  
“Do you want the hard stuff tonight? Nod for yes. Shake your head for no.”  
  
Derek nodded, squeezing the red ball, the precaution Peter always enforced. He'd held to it for a little less than an hour but the rubber was already starting to give, deforming in his hand.  
  
Peter's fingers pulled him by his ear, making him crawl over to the cabinet.  
  
“I'll be using a posture collar on you, with blindfolds and nose hooks. I will also use your mouth as a holder. If you want to stop the scene at any time, shake your leg. I will use a few implements on you at any time during the scene. They may hurt but they won't break your skin. I'll attach bells to your leg cuffs but I want your hands in mitts. Your cock will be free. You're allowed to come at any time you wish. You will not make a single sound. Are we agreeable?”  
  
Derek couldn't repress the sudden jolt of heat that made him stir at his uncle's itemized list of what he'd do to him.  
  
Another nod.  
  
“Excellent, Pup.”  
  
Peter rummaged through the back of the cabinet and brought out something that looked like a spider-gag but with a tube in the middle. So a forniphilic gag then. Tugging out Derek's bit, he let him open and close his mouth, while massaging his jaw, drawing out a small amount of pain. Though, that was mostly the tension from the past month too. Derek slumped, boneless at his feet.  
  
Peter tapped Derek's lips, a signal to open up and fitted the gag in his mouth. After making sure he could breathe, he took out the neck corset he kept for special occasions from the back. It was a beautiful deep green, something he'd picked up with Derek's eyes in mind. It had a series of buckles and straps at the back and flared at the bottom, a comforting heft pushing down on the collar bones. He'd always wanted a chance to use it on Derek and tonight would do nicely. He affixed it to Derek's neck, checking the tightness of the buckle.  
  
Derek puffed out a few panicked breaths, eyes searching Peter's face for approval.  
  
“You look absolutely divine, Sweetheart.”  
  
Derek flushed at the word again. The boy was so fucking needy for just a bit of approval and that sent an awful thrill down Peter's spine. After all these years, the boy still made him feel unsettled. He'd made his mistakes but he'd never blamed him for his youthful transgressions. Kate was squared away in Italy at a remote rehab facility and was recovering quite nicely, far from any werewolves. Peter had made sure of that.  
  
Sifting through his box of padlocks, he chose a heavy one and enclosed it around the main buckle of the corset, letting the weight pull Derek's head backwards, a relentless force holding him upright, while the bulk of the corset pushed down at the front.  
  
Besides, Derek was his boy after all and Peter kept all his boys safely locked up. The mitts came next and they had a small bar inside them to curl around but with enough room to flex. Peter locked them up with tiny pink heart-shaped locks. The collar had a d-ring, perfect for a leash, the next item Peter pulled from the cabinet.  
  
The leg cuffs went on next, a set of cheerful bells tinkling as Peter worked them around Derek's ankles. Signs of stopping were absolutely vital in a scene as heavy as this.  
  
“You are so gorgeous, Darling. Up you get.”  
  
+  
  
After attaching the leash, tugging for give and checking yet again that he could breathe, Peter walked him to the living room, his hands a dead weight at his side, the plug in his ass brushing against his prostate at random intervals, making him flush a deeper red. Derek's ears tinged with heat, unable to drop his head again, his chest sticking out because of the unforgiving collar, unable to hide his stirring cock as well. His eyes were suddenly very intent on seeking out discrepancies in Peter's carpet, finding none. Typical.  
  
Peter'd grabbed a little tray attachment, a feather duster and an assortment of straps and clamps while Derek was distracted by the posture collar. He arranged Derek in a relaxed kneeling position and made him lift up his arms out in front of his chest, like awaiting alms. Unclipping the leash, he threaded a series of straps through rings in the mitts on his hands and the D-ring in the collar. He placed a small metal tray in it and dropped a few items with a clatter and something soft landed with a quiet thud. He then took out the tray attachment and slotted it into Derek's mouth gag. Derek's eyes nearly crossed in front of him, trying to get a good look at it.  
  
Peter snorted.  
  
He took out a nose hook next and after making sure it fit snugly in his nostril, stretched the elastic band and hooked it to a small set of rings at the back of the posture collar. This way he wouldn't forget to breathe. The final piece was a blindfold, a soft lacy affair that was the same beautiful emerald green as the collar.  
  
Perfection.  
  
Peter headed into his kitchen and poured himself some sparkling water, with extra ice.  
  
+  
  
As he heard his uncle's footsteps recede in the direction of the kitchen, Derek let himself exhale slowly. Peter's scent was a comfort he didn't know he'd needed all this month. He'd finally get the absolution he so craved. It was dark enough with the blindfold, a gentle green glow still dancing at the edge of his vision. Peter had dimmed the lights of the house when he'd arrived, everything taking a hazier glow than usual. The comforting weight of the collar in his neck, the soft lining wicking away any sweat inside, the heavy metal of the padlock, a cold presence at his back, the nose hooks a reminder to breathe, gently warming in his nostrils.  
  
The tray in his mouth was a pleasant weight between his teeth, albeit foreign. But not unpleasant in taste. He couldn't discern what Peter had placed on the trays, just that they were metallic implements that he'd be using on him later. Another jolt ran through him and he fought the urge to kick out. Not yet. Derek wanted to be a good boy tonight. He started to relax just a bit when Peter returned and dropped into the couch to Derek's right.  
  
In odd intervals, Peter placed his glass in the tray held between Derek's mouth. Peter had been using him as a tray holder and he'd been happy to just be a tray holder. Derek Hale, Lawyer, the guy who handled the dirty work, the guy who almost got his entire family killed because he couldn't keep his dick in his pants. The whispered conversations and accompanying looks of pity. The need to be the strong one, the person guiding Scott into his True Alpha-hood, the voice of reason keeping Stiles in check, running himself ragged between everyone in his family, just giving and giving without any respite-  
  
And then nothing.  
  
All his thoughts were just vague entities at the edge of his mind, half-formed words and sounds, nothing lingering for longer than a few seconds, glittering and flittering just out of his comprehension and fading away.  
  
Just an _object_.  
  
+  
  
A sudden warm touch to his nipples had Derek almost jolting, stopping this entire game or tipping over the glass he'd held in his mouth.  
  
He reined in the urge to move, an imperceptible shudder muting itself as a subtle pressure was applied to his right nipple. He felt the sharp bite of a clamp at his left one. A hard something was being dragged down his stomach. His heart sped up at the thought of a claw but there was no tell-tale squelch of a claw being drawn, not that he'd been listening anyway. It just felt like a stick. It traveled along his abs, dipped into his navel and stayed there for a few seconds. Not quite cold like metal. The sharp smell of xylene suddenly filled the air, something plastic popping open. Marker. He felt the cold tip dragging along the smooth skin of his abdomen, Peter writing something in decisive strokes.  
  
Derek kept stock-still, not even daring to breathe. The hand left him and his other nipple was suddenly put in a similar clamp as his right. He felt a tug on both his nipples simultaneously. Clamps on a chain, then. Peter let it fall and settled back, Derek listening to the way his soft Henley rubbed against the leather of the couch, the occasional rustle of paper and pen scratch breaking the silence.  
  
+  
  
After what felt like hours, Peter abandoned his briefs and set his pen down with a clatter. He lifted the glass Derek was holding up for the last time, draining the last of his water, padding over to the kitchen yet again. Derek had not kicked out even once, the wave of contentment coming off him signaling he'd enjoyed this as much as Peter had loved having him at his side.  
  
“We're done, the scene's over, Sweetheart.”  
  
Derek stirred at the soft words and let the soothing tone wash over him.  
  
“You were such a perfect darling for me. I'm so proud of you. If you can hear me, please shake your leg cuff.”  
  
He gave his leg a small deliberate shiver and the bells tinkled, soft and low.  
  
Disassembly went something like this: Peter took away the metal tray Derek was holding up. Then he untied the straps and rolled them up into a neat little bundle. Next he worked the tray in his mouth out, the gag coming off as well. He unlocked the heavy padlock at the neck, running a soothing hand up and down Derek's back, grounding him, keeping him from getting overwhelmed as everything holding him down and together was dismantled. The neck corset had left a slight red impression on him and Peter ran his fingers into the rapidly disappearing grooves the heavy collar had left on Derek's collar bones. The hand mitts were next. He tugged off the nipple clamps, running his hands on Derek's pecs and nipples, absorbing the sharp biting pain plaguing the boy suddenly.  
  
Peter arranged all the items in neat little rows, to be inspected and cleaned later. He also took stock of Derek's erection, hard and flushed against his stomach, Derek in no hurry to move or address it. Not tonight then.  
  
“Derek, Sweetheart. Can I remove the blindfold? You may now speak.”  
  
“No, sir. Keep on. Please,” Derek slurred, a sated smile playing on his lips.

"I need to remove the nose hook, doll. Keep your eyes closed."

Peter eased out the nose hooks and redid the blindfold.

He removed the cuffs around Derek's ankle last. He hefted Derek up and headed for the bedroom.  
  
He'd already arranged soft and fluffy blankets, just the way Derek loved during his aftercare. He'd removed all papers and books, nothing that reminded him of work. He settled in at Derek's side, pressing a small straw between his lips, plain lukewarm water. Derek sipped carefully, enjoying the pleasant and quiet buzz, still a little dazed, tending to keep close to Peter. 

  
Peter wiped down stray water dribbles and tears from his face with a soft cloth and pulled the cotton blankets over them both. Derek loved nuzzling into Peter's soft clothes, trying to meld his body against his uncle's preternatural heat, always shying away from skin contact when it all still felt too much and he was just coming down.  
  
Peter stroked down all the different parts that Derek had held still, his boy now boneless and content next to him. He massaged gentle unscented oil into his jaws and neck, unfurling and threading his fingers into the webs, rubbing his ankles till he felt satisfied Derek won't cramp the next day. He also took off the blindfold and set it gently next to his phone on his bedside table, taking note if Derek's phone was plugged into its charger too.  
  
Shutting off the light, he turned in, his breath matching the slow and steady tempo of Derek, drifting off soon after.  
  
+  
  
Derek woke up the next morning, the plug making his morning wood problem more pronounced than usual. Flushing, he tried to wriggle out of Peter's hold around his waist and stilled when Peter grumbled something and then settled back into sleep. He didn't feel like walking, so he slid out and crawled to the bathroom, the urge not a new one. It was just something he loved to do and Peter indulged him. He always knew what to give him. Unlike everyone else, who just took and took.

Peter was fair.  
  
He worked the plug out of himself and took a shower, scrubbing particularly hard at the embarrassing "PROPERTY OF PETER HALE" scrawled across his abs, stepping out adjusting the fluffy towel around his waist. Peter looked up from his phone, his eyes sparkling, coming to rest on his stomach.  
  
“Good morning, Sweetheart. Now, where are the marks I put on you?”

_Fuck._


End file.
